


Noble Intentions

by kayelem



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3011963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayelem/pseuds/kayelem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Commander of the Inquisition's forces it was Cullen's duty to ensure that the men and women fighting for them knew how to protect themselves in a fight, that included their Herald. But the Commander is in for a surprise when he asks Lady Trevelyan to the training yard.</p><p>[PART 2 ADDED]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished my first playthrough of DA:I (with a Cullen romance of course because... Cullen!) and this scene just kept playing in my head. Trevelyan is based on my headcanon Inquisitor.
> 
> It's just a one-shot for now, but I do have it half in mind to do a series of shorts revolving around Cullen and the Inquisitor.

**Noble Intentions**

**.**

**.**

_How do I get myself into these situations?_  Cullen thought with an annoyed sigh.

When Cassandra had come to him asking for a favor this was the last thing Cullen thought she was going to ask of him. It wasn't such an unreasonable or outrageous thing, but Cullen didn't know very much about the Herald yet to know how she was going to react to his offer. There was still so much to be done before she left for the Hinterlands to speak with Mother Giselle that they had only spoken to one another in passing or in brief conversations that had been all official business. But even in those short moments, the Herald had always spared him a heartbreaking smile that left Cullen with a tight feeling in his chest and his stomach fluttering uncomfortably.

When Cullen had ventured to ask the Seeker why she didn't simply make the request of the Herald herself, Cassandra had sighed and answered: _"She does not trust me. I doubt the Herald would even entertain my presence, let alone speak with me alone. At best she tolerates me and at worst, she acts as if I am not even there."_ Cullen had noticed the sad tone of Cassandra's voice, as though the Seeker regretted the strained nature of their acquaintance, but he didn't ask why she felt that way. It had not slipped his notice that the Herald seemed hell-bent on avoiding interaction with Cassandra and Leliana as much as humanly possible. He couldn't deny that it confused him. True, The Left and Right Hands of the Divine were hardly the  _warmest_  people in Thedas, but Cullen found their company pleasant enough most of the time.

Cullen stopped in front of the small home where the Herald was staying, tapping the toe of his boot unsurely in the dirt as he stared at the wooden door. All of the times they had spoken, other people had always been within earshot and this would be the first time they had ever truly been alone while speaking. The idea of being alone with her made his stomach twist into knots and his neck feel warm because she was arguably one of the most beautiful women he had ever met, and speaking to beautiful women was most decidedly not his strong suit.  _Give me abominations and blood magic any day_ , he thought. And he didn't know what to think of her yet, the mage from a noble family that had somehow survived a blast that killed a thousand people. The only thing Cullen knew for certain was that she was not thrilled with the title the people had bestowed on her.

After several moments, Cullen finally lifted his hand, rapping his knuckles against the door. He leaned in waiting to hear her bidding him to enter and when it didn't come, he knocked again, and again there was no beckoning call. With another sigh, Cullen slowly pushed open the door and stepped in, praying that he wasn't walking in on something he shouldn't.

Cullen found her in the midst of meditating, sitting with her legs crossed, levitating above the floor, the glow of the Fade around her. If he had still been taking the lyrium Cullen would have known what she was doing, he would have been able to feel the ripples of her magic as it pressed against the Veil. Now that he was this close and in the same room, he could feel it, the light caress of it against his skin and mind. It had been months since Cullen had felt the whispering brush of magic against his senses – he had almost forgotten how it felt.

"Herald?" he called.

She didn't answer, just remained quietly supported by her steady exertion of mana. Cullen was surprised at the strength in her magic: constantly expelling the amount of mana required to keep her body aloft had to be exhausting.

"… Herald?" Cullen said again, hesitantly walking forward and around her. There was sweat beading on her brow and dampening her hairline. How long had she been at this? Once again, the Herald didn't answer and Cullen wondered just how deeply into the fade she was. He knew better than to touch her or shake her, or do anything else that might forcibly tear her from the Fade lest she accidentally sunder the already thinned Veil.

Could she not hear him? … Then he remembered: _"Will someone explain to me why two dozen bloody people dropped to their knees and hailed me as The Herald of Andraste!?"_

Cullen shook his head at the memory of her storming into the Chantry, the look on her face as fierce as a high dragon. At every turn she had insisted that people call her by her name and not a title that she "had no right to bear".

Shaking his head, Cullen tried again. "Lady Trevelyan?"

This time, she smiled, and the glow of the Fade around her dissolved as she opened her eyes. "Commander Cullen," she greeted him with a nod. "What can I do for you?"

Lady Trevelyan rose gracefully to her feet, still smiling at him. He could still see the glow of the Fade in her eyes and Cullen briefly wondered if what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had altered the color of her eyes – blue, but cracked with shards of iridescent Fade green that resulted in the strange teal color. Cassandra had mentioned that when Trevelyan closed the fade rifts, her eyes seemed to glow just as surely as the mark on her hand.

He watched as she crossed to the water basin and wiped her face with a cloth, pulling her long, loose curls away from her neck and passing the wet cloth along the back of her neck and shoulders. Cullen swallowed uncomfortably as he watched her ministrations, his gaze lingering longer than it probably should have on the graceful line of her neck, where it curved to meet her shoulder and the stretch of creamy white skin she revealed.

When she turned, Cullen immediately dropped his gaze, cursing himself for the heat that she could no doubt see burning his cheeks. "Uh, yes…" he stuttered, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck. "I was… hoping that you would join us in the training yard tomorrow morning."

 _I was hoping?_  Cullen thought wretchedly.  _That's not how this conversation was supposed to start._

"Oh?" she said with a laugh. "Whatever for?"

"Well, as Commander of the Inquisition's forces, it's up to me to see that all of the men and women with us are able to defend themselves. As you'll be facing the most danger, that would include you, Hera… Lady Trevelyan," he informed her.

Her dark eyebrows arched up in what appeared to be amusement. "You think I need to be martially trained?"

"… Cassandra mentioned that while you were on your way to seal the rift at the Temple that you had to fight demons, and that you…"  _Find a nicer way to say this, please find a nicer way to say this,_  "flailed through the encounters." Cullen groaned internally.

"I flailed?" she echoed, but Cullen couldn't tell if she was actually offended or not. She was silent for a long moment, seeming to appraise him from head to toe and Cullen hated that he suddenly felt the need to fidget under her scrutiny. Finally she answered, "Very well, Commander, I will see you and your men in the morning."

Though there was a smile on her face, there was a hard determination in her voice that made Cullen's throat dry.

**.**

 

**.**

_She's not coming. Well done, Rutherford._

The men were already a few hours into their paces and Lady Trevelyan had yet to show herself in the training yard. Cullen had thought about waking her himself on his way to the recruit camp, but he hadn't wanted to catch his men off guard when he showed up in the yard with the Herald of Andraste in tow. He could only imagine the frenzy that would have caused considering that most of them had only seen her in passing and from a distance.

He couldn't deny that part of him was disappointed, as this would have been the first stretch of time that Cullen and the Herald spent together uninterrupted. Another part of him thought that it was probably for the best considering that all Cullen ever managed to do so far was make a fool of himself in front of her. He also doubted that she was going to appreciate being _trained_  by a former Templar considering that she seemed to steer clear of Seeker Pentaghast as well as the other former Templars in Haven.

The reason that Lady Trevelyan seemed to have an aversion to the former Templars was something that Cullen did not want to think about. He didn't know any of the Templars who had been stationed at the Circle in Ostwick so he had no way of knowing if the Templars there abused their power, or perverted their oaths. The idea that maybe Lady Trevelyan's distance from the Templars was because of mistreatment at the Order's hands made Cullen feel like there was a boulder in his stomach.

"Maker's Breath! It's the Herald!" One of the recruits called out and then suddenly the majority of the recruits stopped what they were doing and bowed to her as she approached.

He didn't miss the clenching of her jaw, though she didn't correct the recruit who had called out. While Lady Trevelyan wasn't happy with her new title, she begrudgingly allowed the denizens of Haven to call her such. She seemed to have understood that they saw her as a symbol of hope that they desperately needed, and while she may not have enjoyed it, she did nothing to correct them. To Cullen, that simple fact spoke volumes to her character.

"I wasn't sure you were coming," Cullen told her as she came to a stop. She was dressed in the new armor that Harrit had given to her, her dark hair plaited neatly out of her face.

"To be honest, I wasn't sure I was coming either," she replied. An uneasiness seemed to drape itself around her shoulders as they curved inward. She looked down at her hands and said, "Your recruits would train against a mage?"

"Unfortunately, one way or another they're going to have to learn to fight mages, watching you will help with that. And it comforts them to know that you won't be training with a real staff and hurling lightning at them," he answered, then turned to where he had set the practice staff and handed it to her. "I asked Harrit to make this, it should have the same weight and balance as your basic staff."

Lady Trevelyan took the practice staff from him, balancing in it her hand, feeling the weight of it before turning it over and under her hand. After a moment of testing it and twirling it, she nodded. "It'll serve its purpose."

"Good." Cullen nodded and turned once again, "Recruit Derrick!"

The young man immediately rushed forward and halted before them. "Ser!"

"You will be training with the Herald for the rest of the morning," Cullen informed him.

The young man nodded, his eyes darting to the Herald and Cullen almost laughed out loud when she presented him with that brilliant smile while Derrick flushed three shades of pink. Derrick would be a good measure of Trevelyan's martial skills, if she had any to speak of. He was a moderately skilled shield warrior and former Templar recruit, which meant that he had not yet been given his first philter of lyrium before joining the Inquisition, but knew how to defend himself against a mage.

He thought about telling Trevelyan that Derrick was once a Templar recruit, but immediately thought better of it knowing her aversion to the Templars. Cullen wondered though if she would recognize it in him. She had been around Templars for the majority of her life in the Circle, after all; would she see it in the way he wielded his sword or held his shield, or in the way he moved around her?

"We'll start slow, with blocking. Derrick will move forward to strike and all you need to do is block," Cullen explained.

"Sounds easy enough," Trevelyan said as she widened her stance and lowered her center of gravity while Derrick lifted his shield. "Whenever you're ready, Derrick."

Derrick darted forward and Cullen felt his heart leap into his throat, resisting the urge he felt to call out to her – it was surely too fast for the Herald to block. Cullen was prepared to pick Trevelyan up from the dirt in the next few moments, so the very last thing that he expected was to see Trevelyan move artfully out of the way before she proceeded to perfunctorily disarm and knock Derrick onto his backside in a matter of a few fluid arching movements of her staff.

She stepped up to Derrick, placing the end of her staff to his throat as he panted for breath. "You should know: the end of my staff often has a blade at the end of it, that being the case, I think I have won this round."

Derrick nodded his surrender which made Trevelyan smile as she helped him back up on his feet. Did Cullen truly just witness what he had? A  _mage_  besting a warrior in close quarters? It didn't seem possible.

"Again," Cullen demanded.

He heard the Herald snort as she handed Derrick his sword and moved back into her original position. Derrick hefted up his shield and dashed forward again, and this time Cullen watched. Trevelyan skirted his blade along the length of her staff, then spun in to him, cracking her elbow against the side of Derrick's helmet and Cullen felt his own teeth rattle at just the memory of how a blow to the helm felt. Derrick tried to reach around her in front of him, but Trevelyan lifted her staff up and behind her, placing it against the back of Derrick's neck and with a shout, bent forward and threw him over her back where he landed with a thud in the dirt.

"I win again," Trevelyan said, but there was nothing in her voice that led Cullen to believe that she was happy about her victory. She turned to Cullen, her eyes hard and blazing, her expression twisted into something dark. "Satisfied, Commander?"

Without waiting for his response, Lady Trevelyan tossed him the practice staff and began to storm away. But Cullen couldn't let her leave like that, so he threw down the staff and hurried after her. "Wait!" he called, but she just hunched her shoulders and soldiered on. Perhaps she had hoped she could out pace him, but in the matter of another few strides, Cullen had gained on her and pulled her to a halt. "I hadn't meant to offend you. Why didn't you just tell me you could fight?"

The Herald sighed, palming her hand over her face. "You didn't offend me."

"Then why –"

She cut him off with a raised hand and looked around at all the people who were now watching them. "Walk with me?" she asked.

 _Maker, yes!_  He thought, but realistically: "I… really shouldn't, there's a lot of work to be done."

She smirked at that, one corner of her mouth curling upward as she sank into a hip and crossed her arms. "Are you telling me that you can't spare five minutes for me, Commander Cullen?"

It was the way she blinked slowly at him that was his undoing and she knew she had won when Cullen saw her draw her bottom lip between her teeth. "Five minutes," he said, trying his best to be stern.

"Yes, Ser!" she replied with a mocking salute.

They turned and walked toward the frozen lake, silence reigning between them. He tried not to notice how closely she was walking beside him, close enough that the back his hand brushed her arm, that he could smell the leather of her armor and the wildflower soap she used. 

Cullen wondered if he was supposed to start, maybe ask her a question, but just as he took a breath she said, "You're wondering why I 'flailed' on the way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes if indeed I did know how to defend myself."

"That and where you learned," he told her.

"... Do you know what Seeker Pentaghast first said to me in the dungeon?" Trevelyan asked, her voice quiet as she turned to look at him. Cullen shook his head by way of answering, because truly he didn't. The only thing he had known at the time was that the prisoner was conscious and that Leliana and Cassandra were going to question her. "She leaned in close and said  _tell me why we shouldn't kill you now_. So what do you think was the wisest course of action for me? Reveal that not only could I fight, but that I probably could have escaped at any time once I was out of the dungeon. Or should I have hidden it until it was the most advantageous to me?"

Clever. Cunning. Determined. The kind of mage Cullen had always been warned to watch the closest. But now Cullen understood Lady Trevelyan's aversion to Cassandra a little better than he had yesterday. Within the first minute of meeting her, Cassandra had threatened her life. It didn't matter to Lady Trevelyan now that the Seeker believed she was innocent of causing the explosion at the Conclave, she probably wouldn't trust Cassandra for a long while.

"As for where I learned," she continued, "there was a group of us at Ostwick. When we started to hear the reports coming out of Kirkwall in those last few years before the Chantry explosion, we knew it was only a matter of time before the Circles were going to crumble. It was an entirely at your own risk, after curfew thing. We started teaching ourselves how to fight, to defend ourselves, even how to resist the Templar's smite. I was the best one in the group considering I learned swordplay and had some martial training as a child with my brothers before my magic manifested. Had I not been born with magic it's likely my parents would have given me to the Templar Order… and I probably still would have ended up at the Conclave."

"It seems you were destined to be there," he commented.

She snorted again. "Not likely. I wasn't even supposed to be going. I wasn't even the first, second or  _third_  choice as delegate."

"Why's that?"

"I am too… invested in my own self-preservation. Honestly I couldn't have cared less about being a delegate to the Conclave, but the First Enchanter thought that my nobility would be  _useful_ ," Trevelyan replied, almost bitterly. "One way or another I believed that I was going to be fighting for my life by the end of it, and it seems I was right."

"You think you're… selfish?"

There was no hesitation when she answered, "I am."

"I don't believe that," Cullen insisted. And he didn't. If she was as selfish as she claimed, then she would not have stayed with the Inquisition. She would not have attempted to save The Divine at the Conclave.

"You should," she snapped. "I know myself, Commander. Everyone wants to believe that Andraste saved me in the Fade because I rushed into that room to the save Justinia with noble intentions in my heart, but that's just not true."

"Then what is?"

Lady Trevelyan crossed her arms tightly over her chest, looking out over the frozen vista. Cullen eyed her profile wondering just how exactly this beautiful young woman thought so little of herself when the people of Haven had proven they thought the world of her. She went out of her way to assist Harrit, Minaeve, Threnn… he had even seen her stop by the tavern just to see how Flissa was doing. No, Cullen would not for a moment believe that Lady Trevelyan was as self-indulgent as she claimed.

"Then what's true? The truth is I didn't run into that room with noble intentions. Curiosity got the better of me, is what happened. I had to make sure that whatever was happening, that I would be able to save my own hide, and the reason I’ve stayed in Haven is because I know my chances of survival are considerably higher with the Inquisition than on my own."

She breathed a shuddering breath before she continued. "I'm not the person the people of Haven, or even the Inquisition, thinks I am. I'm not a hero, or a Herald – I'm just a selfish mage interested in ensuring my own continued existence during a mage rebellion. If Andraste did indeed save me at the Conclave, there were a thousand other people better than I that she could have…  _should_  have saved."

Cullen shook his head vehemently, reaching out to lay his hand on her arm. "I still don't believe that. Not about you."

Lady Trevelyan laughed then, but it was a hollow bitter sound that shivered its way through Cullen's bones and settled uncomfortably in his chest. "Just wait, I am sure I'll prove you wrong. Terrible things happen to good people every day, Commander Cullen. Consequently, I am not one of the good people... I am one of the terrible things."

She left then. Left him standing at the edge of the frozen lake, watching as she walked away. He watched as Harrit called out to her and the Herald immediately altered her course to meet him by the smithy. He watched her chat and laugh with the blacksmith and Cullen felt himself smile.

Or perhaps, you're going to prove me right.

 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lady Trevelyan and her party return from the Hinterlands

**II**

 

Once Trevelyan left for the Hinterlands, she didn't return to Haven for over a month. Leliana updated Cullen and Josephine on the Herald's progress through the Hinterlands by way of regular updates from her scouts and several short missives from Cassandra or Trevelyan herself. During that time, Haven also received regular shipments of resources, filled requisition orders, and even a few new agents to add to their growing Inquisition. Cullen had to admit that he was impressed as the reports from the Hinterlands turned from the most awful things ever to only mildly concerning as their forces gained some semblance of control over the area, protecting refugees and civilians from the mage-templar fighting.

The only missive Cullen personally received was a short note from Trevelyan two weeks after she had left Haven. He had been shocked to say the least and had asked the messenger if she had been certain that the missive was for him and not Leliana.

The messenger nodded, holding out the rolled up parchment. "Yes, Commander. The Herald herself said that I was to deliver it to your hands myself."

"… Has Leliana read it already?"

"No ser. The Herald made it clear that it was to come directly to you and only you."

Cullen nodded and thanked the messenger, accepting the missive. With that the messenger bowed and took her leave, presumably to see if Leliana had any need of her. Brow furrowed, Cullen untied the parchment and unfurled it. The top piece of paper was actually a small map of the Hinterlands with a series of X's marked in different locations, as well as the locations of a few logging stands. The second was the actual missive which looked like it had been written in haste. He felt himself smile at her handwriting, not slanting and elegant like Leliana's or scrolled and loping like Josephine's, but sharp and scrawled, words that were half script and half printed like she was running out of patience the longer she wrote.

_Cullen –_   
_Heard Mother Giselle made it back to Haven safely, she seems an alright sort for being part of the Chantry hierarchy and didn't accuse me of murder at first sight, so that was nice change. Not sure how much you've heard, but it's still pretty damn bad out here. With so much blood being shed in the area and all the magic being brought to bear the Veil is supremely vulnerable to tears, and I'm closing rifts at a rate of several a day. We're doing what we can, but the apostates and the Templars are dug in deep as shit. Can't swing a dead nug without hitting one! Trying to find their encampments, but civilians are still getting caught in the crossfire and the Inquisition's people are spread thin enough, focused on helping the refugees. Horsemaster Dennet's man, Bron, suggested watchtowers. I rather like the idea myself because we can't be everywhere at once, and I'd like to be prepared the next time someone decides to set my tent on fire while I'm sleeping. I've marked a few locations on this map that seemed a good place for a few._   
_Can we do this?_   
_\- Phyrra_   
_PS: I'm exhausted. I'm sleeping for a WEEK when we get back to Haven._

Despite himself and the overall tone of the missive, Cullen was still smiling as he walked to the impromptu war room they had created in the Chantry, what had likely once been the Revered Mother's quarters. The Herald's letter was so informal, Cullen could practically hear her sarcasm as he read her words, and he was hardly surprised at her lack of honorifics. But he wondered briefly if the missive had been sent to Josephine or Leliana if Lady Trevelyan would have used their titles. And why would she insist that the missive be sent directly to him? Was it the fact that part of her still distrusted Leliana, or did the disastrous "training" incident manage to endear him to Trevelyan, even just a little?

Cullen was putting more stock into the former, and tried not to hope for the latter.

Shaking the thought from his mind, Cullen focused back on the large map of Ferelden, using the small map Trevelyan sent as reference, placing small tokens in the spots that she indicated. It was a good idea, Cullen had to admit, and the watchtowers spread over a decently sized area around the crossroads and Redcliffe Village that the Inquisition would likely gain a significant advantage in the area.

Cullen wrote a quick set of orders, then went in search of Rylen. He found the man working with Threnn in regards to the recent requisitions that had arrived from the Hinterlands.

"Something you need, Commander?" Rylen wondered, looking up from the supply list.

"Yes," Cullen replied, handing Rylen the orders he had written. "I need a squad of soldiers and a team of builders to head for the Hinterlands immediately."

Rylen looked at orders. "Watchtowers, eh? Solid plan. We'll get it done, Commander."

"Excellent. Coporpal Vale is in charge of our efforts in the Hinterlands, coordinate with him upon arrival. And seek out Horsemaster Dennet's man, Bron, the watchtowers were his idea initially so I would assume that he would have some ideas," Cullen said.

Cullen's second-in-command nodded. "I'll be sure the men are ready to depart within the hour."

.

.

When Trevelyan and her companions returned a few weeks later, Cullen wasn't entirely sure it was the same woman that had left Haven.

Before she left, Lady Trevelyan had been so  _eager_  to leave, to get out of Haven. Her eyes had been bright with the excitement at the mere thought, even though she was being sent into a veritable war zone. She hadn't cared about the logistics of where they were sending her, just the fact that they were sending her at all. Cullen wondered if Lady Trevelyan had still felt like the Inquisition's prisoner in those few days before she left, and if a report had come in saying that she had disappeared, he wouldn't have been all that surprised.

Now, Lady Trevelyan appeared as though she regretted the entire excursion. She looked hallowed, tired in a way that Cullen understood only too well. Tired like he had been in Kirkwall before Cassandra recruited him for the Inquisition. What had she seen… what had she  _done_  that could possibly make her return to Haven in such a state?

Cullen couldn't help but watch Trevelyan as she jumped down from her steed, a beautiful chestnut that seemed to have bonded with her if the way it turned to wherever she went was any indication. She was travel-worn from the trip back, dust and dirt streaked across her face, mud flecked up the lengths of her trousers. With a strained smile, Trevelyan patted the horse's muzzle, bumping her forehead against it before handing his reins over to a stable hand. He watched her as she turned, began undoing the buttons and clasps of her armor as she walked, shrugging out of the overcoat as though she couldn't get out of it fast enough.

He watched her as she stormed through the main gate of Haven like a woman on a mission then made a turn that wouldn't take her to her cabin, but directly to the tavern.

Cullen was, admittedly, confused. All of the reports that had come out of the Hinterlands as of late were positive, especially after construction had begun on the watchtowers. Inquisition soldiers and the refugees were being supplied weapons to defend themselves, Horsemaster Dennet had arrived a few days prior, and the new agents that had arrived in Haven were settling in nicely. So why did Trevelyan look as though the mission had been a failure?

"Ser, Sister Leliana and Lady Montilyet are waiting for you in the war room," a runner said beside him.

Cullen nodded, "I'll be there in a moment."

.

.

It was dark by the time Cullen left the Chantry, though the Breach still cast an eerie glow over Haven. There was a headache pressing against his skull, his mouth was dry as sand, and there was an aching emptiness that he felt echoing in the depths of his bones. He had no doubt, as he trudged back to his tent, that the nightmares would be bad tonight. He wondered for a moment if he would even be able to fall asleep knowing what awaited him tonight.

He hummed as he walked. It helped… sometimes, helped him deal with the aching loss of lyrium's song in his veins. It was a habit that Cullen hadn't realized he'd developed, not until he was back on Ferelden soil, on his way to Haven with Cassandra, Varric grudgingly in tow. He had only been off the lyrium for a few weeks by then, and Cullen remembered that his hands were always shaking so badly he feared that he would never be able to hold his shield steady again.

Cullen couldn't quite imitate the lilting ring of lyrium in his head, his voice was far too low, but the cadence and vibration of his humming filled the emptiness he felt in the absence of the sweet blue song. It helped him steady his hands until his shield no longer trembled in his grip, until his sword was held high, and steady, and proud because  _he could do this._

Varric was the one who had brought his humming to Cullen's attention. " _Curly, you're humming again,_ " the dwarf had said. Cullen had immediately stopped and thought,  _Again?_  And it was the first time he really noticed the silence ringing with loss in his blood. He had apologized and said if it bothered Varric that he would stop, but the frustratingly astute dwarf had merely said he wasn't bothered at all, " _Just wasn't sure if you were even aware you were doing it."_  And though Cullen knew that there was no real way for Varric to know precisely  _why_  Cullen was humming, he had the sinking feeling that the dwarf  _knew_.

Cullen paused as he made to pass the cabin the Herald was staying in, briefly wondering if he should check on her. He had not seen Trevelyan since her return to Haven early that afternoon, though all three of her party members has stopped by the war room to deliver their reports on the excursion to the Hinterlands. But the windows were dark, and the same gifts Cullen had seen outside the door on his way to the Chantry earlier were still piled against the door. Had she even returned to her cabin at all?

"Hey Curly!" Despite the fact that Cullen didn't exactly want to keep encouraging Varric's use of the nickname he had been given, Cullen turned. "She's still at the tavern," Varric told him, thumbing over his shoulder to the tavern, whose lights were bright and inviting against the cold night.

"Still?" Cullen replied, altering his course and crossing the distance to where Varric sat cleaning his crossbow.

"Don't tell me you didn't notice that was the first place Phyrra headed after we got back," the dwarf said.

_Phyrra._   _Already on a first name basis._  Cullen ignored the bitter twinge in the back of his throat. "What happened in the Hinterlands?" he asked instead.

Varric shook his head, fidgeting with some mechanism, then gave a grunt as the piece came away in his hand. "Honestly, it was bad. Mages and Templars killing each other left and right, not caring who got caught in the middle," he answered, setting more pieces aside. He gave a snort, and continued, "Reminded me of home actually."

"I meant, what happened that has made…" Cullen hesitated a moment, wanted to call Lady Trevelyan by her given name as easily as Varric had, "the Herald stay in the tavern all day."

"Oh no!" Varric almost laughed. "You want to know that you can ask her yourself, not my place to say."

Cullen felt himself sigh before bidding Varric goodnight. He debated with himself for all of a few seconds before Cullen found his feet carrying him toward the tavern. It was good to hear the laughter and conversations when he opened the door, stepped in and the rush of warm air chased away the chill. Not too many people paid him much mind, though Cullen did notice a couple of recruits that he had been a bit harsh on this morning duck their heads hoping not to be noticed.

He scanned the room, unable to find Lady Trevelyan at first then made his way to the bar. "What can I do for you, Commander?" Flissa asked with a smile.

"I'm looking for Lady Trevelyan," he told her.

"Oh," she said, a tone of sadness in her voice. Flissa motioned to his left, and turning, he found the mage sitting by herself at a corner table with her back to the room. "She's been here most of the day, not spoken to anyone. Is she alright? I know she just returned from the Hinterlands today."

"I'm sure the trip was… trying," Cullen replied as he turned back to the barmaid. "Has she been drinking the whole time?" Cullen was not looking forward to dealing with a drunken mage.

Flissa nodded. "Yes, though not a lot. She's been coming up for a jigger of brandy every once in a while, I keep insisting that she doesn't need to pay me, but she still sets enough coin on the counter to cover five or six drinks."

Cullen nodded, thanking Flissa and setting a few extra coins on the counter before he turned and made for the table where Lady Trevelyan was sitting. The overcoat of her armor was thrown on the chair beside her and as Cullen got closer he could see that it was heavily stained, that some edges were curled up and black where it had caught fire.

She was using magic to warm the mug in front of her, the spoon stirring the contents on its own. She looked up at him from under her lashes as he pulled out the chair opposite her. "Commander," she greeted him with a smile. "Come to check on me?"

"You've been here almost all day," he pointed out.

Lady Trevelyan tilted her head and the torches flashed over the glassiness of her eyes. "Afraid I'm going to burn the place down in a drunken rage?"

Cullen ignored the question. "What are you even drinking?" he asked.

"Tea," she replied with a growing smile then laughed when he leveled her with a disbelieving stare. She placed the mug in front of him. "Try it."

"I don't think –"

"Just try it!"

Cullen rolled his eyes and sighed as he reached for the mug. He tilted the mug toward the light, noticing the diffuser sitting in the bottom of the mug, and it certainly did  _look_  like tea. Hesitantly, he raised the mug to his lips and took a small sip, immediately relishing in the warmth of the tea and the sweetness of the honey she'd added, but finding himself coughing when he felt the burn of brandy down the back of his throat a moment later.

"Maker's Breath!" he coughed. "What is that?"

Lady Trevelyan laughed again as she took back her mug. "It's called a liquoring tea. The tea itself comes from Antiva and is considered to be the champagne of teas, Josephine somehow found out it was my favorite tea and got me a box… I imagine she found out from the 'frightening amount of information' Leliana has on me. Add a bit of honey and brandy, and you have comfort in a cup," she answered.

Silence lapsed between them, heavy and uncomfortable, alerting Cullen even more to the fact that the two of them were practically strangers. What in the name of the Maker had he been thinking, coming here? What made him think that it  _wouldn't_  be awkward? It was like the beginning of bad joke…

_A mage and an ex-templar walk into a bar…_

"You might as well ask, Cullen," Lady Trevelyan said abruptly, interrupting his thoughts. "Who knows when I'll be feeling this charitable again?"

"Ask what?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Don't try to play the fool, it's not a part that fits you."

Cullen felt a rueful chuckle rise up his throat. "Very well. What happened in the Hinterlands?"

Trevelyan lowered her gaze back to her mug, the question seeming to have a sobering effect on her. Again, Cullen recognized the look on her face, an expression that he had seen in his own reflection times beyond counting when he recalled Kinloch Hold and that last fight in Gallows during waking hours. He watched the memories play across her face, noticed too the new freckles lightly spattered across her nose and over her cheeks from the weeks spend in the sun.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet and if Cullen had been so attuned to her at that moment, he knew her voice would have carried off into the din of the tavern. "… How many people have you killed, Cullen?" Lady Trevelyan asked him.

The question stilled him and abruptly all the noise around them fell away, except for Cullen's heartbeat echoing in his ears.  _How many people had he killed? What kind of question was that?_ Without much conscious thought his mind backtracked through his years of service, back through Kirkwall, back through Kinloch Hold. By now Cullen felt like he had been fighting for more than half his life, and he couldn't recall specifically when his mind set had changed in regards to who fell under his blade. Once, a long time ago Cullen would have seen people, now he saw  _enemies._  The thought made his stomach turn.

When had he stopped being fazed by the lives he had taken?

"You can't even remember, can you?" she said next, her hand coming to cover her mouth as a startled laugh slipped between her fingers. "I don't know why I'm surprised. I doubt Cassandra can remember either being  _Right Hand of the Divine_ and all. And Varric, kicking around Kirkwall with the Champion – how many people to do you think the two of them killed? Even Solas! Pajama elf didn't even bat an eye before burning someone to a crisp! Maker's tits the smell was awful!"

Cullen felt his mouth drop open, then immediately snap closed before he said something stupid. Before sending Trevelyan to the Hinterlands he hadn't considered that she had never taken a life. It would be unavoidable in her current position, but he couldn't exactly treat her like one of his men and order her to handle it.

He swallowed, considered his words carefully before he spoke. He doubted that she wanted to hear the bitter truth of it – that it became easier the longer she fought. "Look at all the people you helped though? The refugees, the people at the Crossroads – they're all safe because of your efforts."

"Yes," she agreed, though somewhat sarcastically. "But how many noble deeds do you have to do before you wash the blood from your hands?"

"If you're having an attack of conscience, perhaps the best place to seek solace would be the Ch—"

"Nope. No, thank you," Lady Trevelyan cut him off abruptly.

"Do you not believe in the Maker?"

"Should I?" She replied, then before he could answer, she waved her hand as though she could wave away what she had just said. "Let me ask a different question… Were you born with your sword and shield in your hands?"

"I'm sorry?" Cullen felt his brow knit together in confusion.

"Just answer."

He shook his head, unsure where the conversation was headed. "No."

"No," she echoed. "So you trained your body to be something other than what it was born. You were not born a warrior, you made yourself into one. Beyond that you were a Templar, you took the lyrium and altered yourself forever, alienating yourself even further from what you were born and yet the Maker would welcome you with arms outstretched."

She raised her hand, anchoring her elbow on the table top and a moment later, flames began curling from her skin, rising from the tips of her elegant fingers. "I was born as this, I didn't make myself a mage. Yet, because I am  _not_  something other than what I was born  _I_ am the aberration,  _I_  am the disgrace. So I should believe in a creator who made me what I am, and yet condemns me for it?"

Cullen understood her frustration, truly he did, but he wasn't entirely confident that he was the best opponent for her to debate with. Instead he nodded, conceded her points and replied, "I respect your beliefs. I'm glad that you felt you could… trust me enough to share them, Lady Trevelyan."

Now he understood a little better why she so fiercely disliked being called The Herald of Andraste.

He pushed himself to his feet, feeling that he had imposed on her too long already. "I should retire, but I meant what I said about the Chantry. Even if you don't believe, it is a quiet place to sit and think."

She nodded, smiled crookedly at him and despite himself Cullen felt his neck go warm. "Thank you, Cullen, for listening to me. The only thing Varric had said was that it gets easier over time, I don't think he realized it wasn't exactly comforting," she said.

"Of-of course, it was… uh, my pleasure, Lady Trevelyan."

Cullen felt her hand on his arm as he made to pass her, thin fingers sliding easily around his wrist. The blush on his cheeks was burning horribly as he turned to look at her once again. "Cullen… you can call me Phyrra."


End file.
